


we are birds

by isyotm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blood, Cancer, Curtain Fic, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyotm/pseuds/isyotm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He always thought they'd have so much more time.</p><p>  <i>In love is not the right time to die</i><br/><i>We still have our whole life</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	we are birds

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary quote from the [Brighten song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVFtPLdDUHQ) of the same name.

_It starts out so small_

They’re brushing their teeth side-by-side in the bathroom, Merlin watching Arthur like a hawk. He glares pointedly at the little timer in the middle of their bathroom counter whenever looks like he’s ready to rinse.

“I shed _two_ minutesh, you cheater,” Merlin says around a mouthful of spit.

“If they’re not clean in the firsh 30 shecondz, then they never will be,” Arthur grumbles, but he waits until the little timer beeps to stop brushing his teeth and rinse out his mouth. “Happy?” he grumbles.

Merlin beams at him, spit dribbling down his chin.

“You have a little something…” Arthur says. He gestures to Merlin’s chin and contorts his face into an exaggerated look of disgust when Merlin blows him a kiss.

“Oh, you love it,” Merlin says, but he double-checks in the mirror to make sure everything gets cleaned off. He pauses, frowning down at the pink-tinged water swirling down the drain.

“What, no mouthwash tonight? Not that I’m complaining—”

Merlin rinses out his mouth again, but the water still runs pink. He checks his teeth in the mirror, prods his gums, but there’s no ache, nothing to indicate where the blood is coming from.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, finally realizing that something is disturbing the peace of their usual nighttime routine.

When Merlin rinses his mouth a third time, the water runs clear. “It’s nothing.”

Arthur shrugs. “Alright, then I’m going to—” he begins as he tries to edge out of the bathroom.

“You’re forgetting your best friend, Mr. Listerine.”

Arthur groans like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

Merlin holds up the bottle of bright blue liquid and pouts. “You’re making him sad. Don’t make Mr. Listerine sad.”

“Merlin.”

“What’s that, Mr. Listerine?”

_“Merlin.”_

“You like Arthur’s mouth?” Merlin grins wickedly. “I do too. Isn’t that why we want it to be nice and healthy?”

“Just give me the goddamn mouthwash already.”

“Here you go. You big baby.” Merlin hands him the cup full of bright blue liquid and sets the timer. “Ready?”

Arthur nods, a pitiful look on his face that Merlin ignores completely.

“30 seconds starting…now.”

 

* * *

 

_And for a while there’s nothing else to indicate anything is wrong_

The blood is there the next morning and the next night as well, and Merlin’s ready to call the dentist, but the morning after that there’s nothing. Nor is there the morning after that.

Arthur catches him frowning into the sink early on Saturday morning after three “clean” days. “Are you sad to say goodbye to all your friends?”

“Friends?”

“The germs. You know, ‘birds of a feather.’”

“Are you calling me a germ?”

“Does the shoe fit?”

“You’re mixing metaphors.”

Arthur hugs him from behind and rests his chin on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Why are you up at 9 AM on a Saturday?”

“Gwen invited me to go to the park.”

“At 9 AM on a Saturday,” he says, his tone conveying very clearly what he thinks of this.

“She wants to start walking together. Exercising. Lance is going too.”

“Come back to bed.”

“Sure you want a germ in bed with you?”

“I promise it’ll be much more fun than the park.”

“Do you?”

Arthur turns him around to peck him once on the nose and kiss him hard on the mouth, his hand sliding down the side of Merlin’s body to rest just above the curve of his ass. “Oh absolutely.”

Merlin decides everything else can wait.

 

He definitely enjoys himself a lot more than he would have at the park.

 

* * *

 

_Until one morning, when it feels like the whole world falls apart_

They’re sitting at the table and enjoying breakfast together when Merlin feels a tickle in the back of his throat. He tries to ignore it, but that just makes it more annoying, like an itch he can’t scratch. He takes a few sips of water and clears his throat, garnering a raised eyebrow from Arthur seated across from him, but thankfully the feeling goes away.

A minute later, something in Merlin’s cheek goes numb. He chews experimentally, but the feeling doesn’t come back. Instead, his whole mouth and throat feel sore, like he’s in the middle of suffering through the worst cold.

He swallows and says, “Arthur.” Or tries to, but it comes out sounding weirdly slurred, like he doesn’t quite remember how his mouth is supposed to form the words.

“Arthur,” he says again, and this time it comes out more like a name rather than his usual pre-caffeinated gargling.

Arthur looks up from where he’s reading the newspaper, glasses perched on the end of his nose in a way that makes him look terrifyingly like his father. He must see something on Merlin’s face because his expression shifts from vague interest to concern in a second.

“Merlin?”

“Arthur,” he repeats. It takes a lot more of his concentration than it should have to just to make the words sound right. This would be so much easier if he could actually feel his mouth.

“Arthur, I think you should take me to the doctor,” he tries to say, but all that comes out is a mess of vowels. He feels something wet on his chin and when he looks down, there’s a thin stream of blood dripping onto the pristine white napkin Arthur nags him about placing on his lap at every meal.

He watches as all the blood drains from Arthur’s face.

 

* * *

 

_For a while things are almost easy_

Arthur is not afraid of many things. He has enough self-awareness to attribute this to his upbringing, wealthy and privileged with access to anything he’s ever desired right at his fingertips. Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it can buy just about everything else, and he’s never had to lose sleep wondering if he would be able to afford paying for electricity _and_ food.

In this life, Arthur is afraid of only one thing: Losing Merlin.

The next week is a flurry of activity that Arthur only survives through sheer force of will and unhealthy amounts of coffee. There are tests and doctors’ appointments and sleepless nights where all it’s all he can do to keep from screaming or hitting something. Instead, as he lays in the dark and tries not to drown in the fear that threatens to consume him, he listens to Merlin breathing, trying to match the rhythm of his inhales and exhales, and does the only thing he can—hope for the best.

When the finally get an answer, Arthur almost breathes a sigh of relief. The problem has a name, therefore it must have a solution.

Hindsight is 20/20 and when he thinks back, he curses himself for being such a fool.

 

* * *

 

_Or as easy as they can be_

Loving someone with cancer isn’t easy. It’s hard to watch as the radiation therapy hollows Merlin out, takes away the most beautiful, radiant parts of him and leaves behind a tired old man who can barely muster the energy for a smile. Arthur is determined to be there for every single one.

He sleeps in the hospital most nights and is on a first-name basis with all of the nurses on Merlin’s floor.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re cheating on me,” Merlin jokes.

“Have you seen yourself lately? Not exactly appealing,” Arthur replies, but his voice shakes and he has to look away so Merlin doesn’t see the tears at the corner of his eyes.

They take Merlin for check-ups every month, checking to make sure the chemo is working, that the cancer isn’t spreading. Every month it’s good news, the best that Arthur can hope for—The tumors are decreasing, it hasn’t spread, everything looks like it’s going in the right direction.

Merlin will recover. Merlin will live.

 

* * *

 

_Until they’re not_

“You said he was _fine._ You said he was doing _well_.” Arthur is so angry he spits the words and they come out as cold as ice.

“Mr. Pendragon, you have to understand—”

“What? That you’re not doing your job? That you’re going to let him _die_?”

“Mr. Pendragon, _please_ —”

“There must be something you can do.”

“As I said—”

“Something _else._ ”

The possibility of never hearing Merlin speak again, of never hearing his laughter, his silly jokes, his shower-singing, is too much for Arthur. He would give anything, _anything_ , so that Merlin could be okay, but they—whoever _they_ is—don’t want anything from him. Except for Merlin.

“Mr. Pendragon, if there was any other way… I understand this must be hard for both of you, but there is a high-success rate with this type of procedure.”

He grinds his teeth so hard he wonders if they’ll crack and bites out, “What did Merlin say?”

“He says he’s willing to go ahead with it.”

And Arthur could never deny Merlin anything.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

_But if love is true_

Their new life together is much quieter. Every so often Arthur will forget, goad Merlin for his silence, before he remembers that Merlin can no longer speak, and Merlin can see that it breaks him a little bit each time, creates a fissure in his heart that never fully heals. At night, as they lie curled up together in bed, Merlin runs his hand over the scar on Arthur’s side they took the tissue from, kissing the side of his face, his jaw, his forehead, his eyes, and wishing that he could whisper condolences as Arthur shakes and cries without sound, soaking their pillows and bed sheets. He wishes he could tell Arthur how much he loves him, how wonderful Arthur is, how thankful he is that they found each other.

But he can’t.

 Instead, he tries his best to convey it through looks, through touches, through little things like remembering that Arthur likes to order a club sandwich from the café by their apartment, but refuses to eat the ones from the café by his job, or that Arthur likes action movies on the weekends and coffee at sunset and a million other things that say all the things he no longer can.

And when he sees the way Arthur’s face goes soft whenever he remembers these things, he likes to imagine it heals that fissure bit by bit. It’s an uphill battle, but one Merlin will fight every day until he dies.

 

* * *

 

_It will find a way_

It takes them a while, but eventually this, too, becomes normal.

“One for yes, two for no, remember?” Arthur asks over the phone.

Merlin presses one. He wishes he could make it sound exasperated, but technology hasn’t advanced quite that far yet. One day, maybe.

“Was there any blood today?”

Two.

 “Any pain?”

Two.

“I’m glad,” Arthur says, and his voice is shaky with relief. Merlin wonders if he’ll ever stop being afraid, but he doesn’t have a way to ask that over the phone.

 “I was thinking of picking up some pizza for dinner.”

One.

“Yeah, we haven’t had pizza in a while. The usual?”

Two.

“What do you mean, no? Do you want to try something new?”

Two.

Arthur makes a frustrated noise. “Nothing new, but not what we always get. You’re a puzzle, Merlin.” Someone says something indistinctly on the other end and Arthur sighs. “Just a second,” he tells them. “Text me what you mean, okay? I have to go. I love you.”

Merlin presses three. _I love you too._ That one had been his suggestion.

When they hang up, Merlin texts, _Get whatever you want._ His mouth hurts too much to eat anything right now.

He’ll regret lying later, but Arthur sounded so happy and he doesn’t want to ruin that. Arthur deserves all the happiness he can get.

 

* * *

 

_Through fire or water_

Merlin has check-ups every so often, but when he finds blood in the sink the next morning, he knows that this really can’t wait.

It’s surprisingly difficult to talk to his oncologist on the sly when he can’t use the phone. He takes the train to the office the next morning and does his best to communicate with the receptionist, but he can’t get through to her. No matter how many times he helplessly points at his mouth and gestures for something to write on, she refuses to honor his requests, whether out of cruelty or stubbornness or some other reason Merlin can’t understand.

Finally, he breaks down and calls Arthur, forgetting too late that they don’t have a number set aside for this kind of situation.

“Merlin?”

He hits four.

“Merlin, what’s wrong?”

Four again.

“Are you okay?”

Four.

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

Four.

“Are you okay?”

Two, three, four.

“Are you in pain?”

One.

“Is there blood?” Arthur’s starting to sound panicked and slightly hysterical.

One, two, three, four.

“Did you go to see the oncologist?”

One, one, one, one—

“I’ll be right there. Don’t go anywhere, okay? Just—just let me know if they let you in, let me know that you’re okay.”

 

* * *

 

_In sickness and in health_

Stepping into the hospital again nearly gives him a panic attack. The last time he was here, he was waiting as doctors cut out Merlin’s tongue, promising this one sacrifice would fix everything. And yet here they are again, Merlin hooked up to a hundred machines as Arthur sets about trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

Merlin gestures for the whiteboard they brought along and Arthur hands it to him. The marker squeaks as Merlin writes _I love you._

“I love you too.” He takes a deep breath to hold back the tears and says it again. “I love you so much.”

Merlin taps the whiteboard with the marker again. And again. And again.

“I know, you sappy loser, you can stop…”

A trickle of blood drips from Merlin’s nose, first one nostril and then both.

“Merlin…”

A drop leaks from the edge of his mouth. Merlin points to the whiteboard again and mouths the words.

The flow of blood increases as Merlin keeps tapping the marker against the whiteboard.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

Arthur rings for the nurse, pressing the button over and over again until someone comes.

 

* * *

 

_‘Til death do us part_

He grips the sides of the podium so hard his knuckles turn white and his fingers ache, but the pain is grounding and it helps him keep it together as he looks out at the people who’ve gathered to say their last goodbye to Merlin.

And there are so many people.

He knows some of them are here for him—his sister, his father—but most of them are here for Merlin, for the most beautiful person that ever lived.

Arthur swallows and the sound of it is picked up by the microphone, loud in the quiet room.

“Merlin is…” he begins, voice thick, and has to pause to correct himself. “Was.”

And stops.

He can’t do this. He can’t talk about Merlin like he’s gone. He knows, logically, that Merlin is gone because otherwise Merlin would be standing right here next to him, would be holding his hand, would be whispering in his ear. But instead he’s alone and it feels like someone’s turned out the sun; he’s cold everywhere, in his bones, in his heart, and the thought of moving from this spot under his own volition is too much right now.

“Amazing. And we’ll miss him so much.” His voice cracks on the last word and he has to leave. Even now, the idea of crying in front of his father is something he can’t bear.

Instead of sitting back down in the pew like is clearly expected of him, he walks down the aisle and out the double doors, keeps walking until he leaves the church far behind and stands on the hill nearby, overlooking the city and everyone in it. Have they felt loss like this? He doubts it. If they knew Merlin, they’d be here. And then they would know what it feels like.

He sits down and cries until his throat hurts.


End file.
